


Chop Chop

by mini_puffs



Category: Video Blogging RPF
Genre: Alternate Universe - Zombie Apocalypse, Canon-Typical Violence, Gen, Long Hair, Writing Exercise
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-17
Updated: 2020-10-17
Packaged: 2021-03-09 05:14:03
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,281
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27059305
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mini_puffs/pseuds/mini_puffs
Summary: That gets another laugh out of him. “Still.” Tapl shrugs. “You should cut it or keep it tied up. Having your hair that long and bright…” He trails off. “It’s like you’re asking to be eaten.”Techno nods, echoes of screams and zombies reaching for him flooding his senses. He shakes his head to drive them out and looks back down at him, smug smile on his face. “As if they have the brain cells to think that.”If Techno's learned one thing about the undead, it's that they're not too different from eight year old girls: deadly, terrifying, and have an obsession with his hair.
Relationships: Dave | Technoblade & Everyone
Comments: 17
Kudos: 178





	Chop Chop

**Author's Note:**

> Alternatively tilted: Technoblade’s dramatic haircut LMAO
> 
> me: hey there’s a lot of cool ideas to write, why don’t we write about the festi—  
> my brain, shoving them out of the way: TECHNO BRAID FIRST
> 
> tw: violence against zombies and almost death but not really cause we don't take L's

Safe houses never last long, so they had to get moving. 

Everything they need to survive is already packed into bags slung over their shoulders, their weapons at their sides. Food isn’t an issue--they’ve got enough from his farms, farms that they told him not to make but Techno did anyway and look where that got them--and they finish eating their breakfast before hopping out of the small cottage to run. Two weeks, they spent two weeks in that thing, cramped in the kitchen with ammo boxes, maps, and medkits scattered on top of the table, planning their next move. There wasn’t enough room for all of them to fit inside and Techno remembers sleeping on the front porch, watching the woods for signs of the undead and the night sky for constellations. If there’s anything good the apocalypse has brought, it’s that the stars are much clearer.

They’ll be out soon as well, he notes, as they trudge along the path towards the expressway. Sunset casts their shadows along the cracked asphalt, filling his sight with a blur of orange and pink. Maybe that’s the sleep deprivation talking. Techno catches glimpses of himself on the car windows, nicks and bruises decorating his face with eye bags that can’t carry nearly half of the emotional damages he’s been through for the past year. Someone in the back tries to break into a vehicle, probably Tommy or Tubbo, and it’s Phil who unlocks the car silently for them to raid the inside. 

“Look!” Tommy cuts in front of him and holds up a flashlight, pointed directly at his face. “They work!”

Techno blinks. He doesn’t know if that’s good or bad and he’s leaning on the latter judging by his past track record. “Wow.”

Aiming it at a van, Tommy flicks it on and beams at the result. “Think I could blind the horde with it?” He says, twirling it in his hand. He drops it and it clatters against the cement. “None of you saw that,” he quickly mutters, face red. “Nothing happened.”

“Mhm.”

There are dozens of cars on the expressway and keeping an eye on the time, they loot a few more. None of them have anything useful aside from batteries, sometimes the occasional blanket and money that’s practically worthless in this day and age. Wilbur finds a gas can in the trunk of one and he stuffs it into his backpack for later, with a maniacal grin that makes even Techno concerned. All he finds are expired snacks with faded cheery logos telling him to smile. It’s enough to make him throw it into the water below, where a few of the undead float.

Ha, losers. He’s run from hordes and scaled buildings just to get away from them but put them in water and they’re rendered hopeless. Go figure.

At some point they make it to the edge of the highway, back onto solid ground. Wired fences close off the road and Techno boosts a few people to help them get over. Three trucks sit on the other side, black and white paint peeling off with some company name plastered on them. Not the military or police--security? If he had to guess, the outbreak must have started somewhere here and whoever the cars were from, they blocked off the highway to keep the rest out. A rotting arm clutches the wires, a ring on one of its fingers glinting under the sun. He averts his eyes and boosts the next person. Whoever that belonged to, they’re gone now.

“Should we check these cars?” Niki asks, snapping him out of his daze. She points to the three on her side of the fence. 

Tubbo’s already on top of one, peeking into the windows. “It’s clear.” They give a thumbs up.

Wilbur shrugs. “Open it,” he says. “Might have something good. Phil, can you pass us the—TECHNO, BEHIND YOU—“

The words don’t register at first. Months of running with your heart pounding against your chest and hearing screams echo in the night do that to you. The warning wraps around his head like smoke and if his senseis have taught him anything, there’s no use in chasing after it. Running after speed only results in haste and although his choice of weapon is a katana pried off an antique store, haste is never good for fencing. Fluidity, control, and timing are much more effective. There’s no point in rushing a move as long as it hits at the right time.

Techno should’ve asked them to move quicker, maybe scream at his body to move faster, because everything stops, just like in one of those terrible movie freeze-frames, for three things to happen at once:

  1. Everyone’s faces drop at such comical speeds that he would’ve laughed if the circumstances were different. One moment they’re blank with small smiles and the next their jaws drop and eyes widen as they scream at him, horrified. Weird. They only look like that when something bad happens to one of them, and Techno’s only been traveling with them for a couple of months. 
  2. Glass shatters from the car behind him, a guttural _screech_ followed shortly after. Techno turns and comes face to face with an undead, its head tilted at an odd angle with rotting flesh and pus dripping down its torso. Its eyes, red and yellow, like traffic lights that make his body stop and slow down in its erratic movements to _run and get out of there,_ peer back at him as it takes a step forward. The side by the right of its rib cage is empty, shirt sleeve fluttering in the wind. 
  3. It screams, and something snatches the tips of Techno’s hair, yanking him back and bashing his skull into the asphalt. 



  
  


* * *

  
  


The first few months of the outbreak are nothing but a blur in his mind, another blip in his memory. There was a lot of screaming for one, a lot of tears and running and carnage and radiation. The last bit is purely speculation, but within a few weeks of his stay in one of the makeshift safe houses, Techno’s hair turns an alarmingly bright shade of pink, his teeth sharpening and skin itching more than it did before that he’s sure there’s no other explanation. 

His hair grows fast as well, trailing along the floor of the warehouse behind him. It gives people an excuse to talk with him, letting some of the younger survivors braid it as they discuss plans. He’s gotten used to it and as much as he doesn’t want to admit it, it feels nice. There’s something oddly exhilarating about running through the fields with your hair flying behind you and it’s saved him the trouble of starting actual conversations himself. 

It’s terrible for fighting, however.

“GG.” Tapl grins, sword pointed inches away from his nose. A clump of his hair is balled into his right hand and he releases it to help him up. “You good?”

“GG. I’m alright.” Techno stands and rubs the back of his head, sore. Somehow, all of his hair is still attached to it. “Did you have to be so brutal about that?” He complains. “Coulda ripped my head off.”

“Sorry,” Tapl says, without sounding the least bit apologetic. He chuckles. “It’s such an obvious weakness, though.”

“Only if you wanna fight dirty.”

Gesturing to the windows, Tapl tilts his head and stares at him. “You think the zombies are gonna know the difference?” A few leaves fall out of his hair as he does, varying shades of red and green, and Techno steps on them and smiles as he hears the satisfying _crunch_ beneath his feet. 

“I saw one walk off a bridge,” he says dryly. “None of them are gonna have the brain cells to try to decapitate me.” Not like they had any to begin with, but that’s another story.

That gets another laugh out of him. “Still.” Tapl shrugs. “You should cut it or keep it tied up. Having your hair that long and bright…” He trails off. “It’s like you’re asking to be eaten.”

Techno nods, echoes of screams and undead reaching for him flooding his senses. He shakes his head to drive them out and looks back down at him, smug smile on his face. “You only grabbed it ‘cause you’re short and you were gonna lose.”

“Hey, hey, hey, no, I—“

“What a _scaaaaaaaaam—_ you’re disqualified,” Techno laughs and waves him off, “get outta here. I’m gonna find a new sensei.”

* * *

  
  


The first coherent thought that crosses his mind the moment his head makes contact with the ground is the longest _bruh_ he’s ever thought of. He expects everything to hurt—his skull to crack open or something, for the oh-so-tragic not-death of Technoblade because him? Dying? Never—but he feels nothing more than a light tap on the side of his face, the only pain from where the zombie jerked his hair down. 

“Bruh.” He glares at the arm, rotting fingers curled around his hair. That’s going to be a pain to wash out. “Are you kidding me?”

The undead hovering over him screeches, spitting bile and other fluids onto his face. It lunges at his neck and Techno rolls out of the way, resisting the urge to throw up from the awful stench right then and there. Double bruh. Or triple. He’s lost track.

“TECHNOBLADE, RUN!”

Techno covers his head as a baseball bat full of bloody nails slams itself into the zombie’s face, making a sickening _squelch_ as brains and guts splatter onto the pavement. Someone pulls him up and Techno boosts them over the fence, everyone yelling at them to hurry. 

“Just jump over!” Wilbur yells at him. Techno grips onto the wires, the fence rattling under his weight. The rest of the horde is on their way, zombies crawling from the other side of the highway. “Just jump--oh for fuck’s sake--”

“I’m trying!” Techno leaps off and lands on a car roof with a loud _thud._ Wilbur hauls him off but before he can run with the rest of them, three undead crash into the fence, rotting hands grabbing his hair once more. It takes all of his strength to not immediately be dragged back and bitten. Techno slices one’s wrist with his katana. “Fuck off!” He spits back. 

“Technoblade--guys, someone help--” Someone grabs his arm and tries to pull him forward. He can’t tell who it is and that’s a question for another day, because he’s trying not to get himself killed. Techno kicks one’s arm off him, letting it sail into the water below. 

“There’s too many!” His savior thrusts their knife down one’s hand and Techno jerks his head away as blood squirts out.

“Shit!” That’s Tommy. He points his flashlight at the incoming mob. “You woke up all of them!” 

“Stop yelling!” 

“Well, what do you want me to do? Whisper?!” He scoffs and yelps. “They're all coming!”

“Move!” Wilbur’s by his side in an instant, clutching a flaming bottle. The heat makes Techno’s eyes sting and he chucks it over the fence as the glass shatters and a fire spreads, the smell of burning flesh filling the air. “That won’t hold them for them long!” He yells. 

A car engine revs up followed by a loud _whoop_ as Tubbo and Niki wave at them. “The truck works!” They call. “Get on!”

No. No. Cars are terrible. Techno’s had enough experience with them and they’re noisy, run out of gas fast, and are nothing but a hindrance. Wilbur grimaces, and Techno can see the gears turning in his mind as he watches the flames flare up and burn the first wave of zombies. Molotov cocktails are one thing, a truck on the other hand--

“Techno--” 

“I got it.” Techno wrenches his hair free from the last zombie's grasp and sprints to the truck, swinging open the door. “Get out,” he says. The two comply promptly. Slamming his foot on the gas, he swerves it around and drives it directly toward the horde. 

The fence scratches the top coat of paint as he drives into it, the undead and the wires shrieking alike. He can see Wilbur in the corner of his eye readying his next cocktail, the flames growing nearer and nearer. Timing--it’s all about timing--and although he drums his fingers against the steering wheel, he can’t tell when he should--

“Jump out!” Wilbur shouts. “Now!”

Techno does, and the wind _slams_ the car door right behind him, right on his hair. Mother Nature and her spawns of Satan must really hate him today. He grunts, twists his head to the side but it’s no use. Another reason why cars are terrible, and he really should stop making these analogies when he’s seconds from death. “Just throw it!” He yells, Wilbur hesitating. “Throw it!”

The grip of his katana is hot. There’s zombie remains still on it and Techno winces, squeezing his eyes shut and he hacks it right through his hair, almost falling face-first onto the ground. He picks himself back up and runs, body much lighter. “Hurry up and throw it!”

Wilbur finally does. The truck bursts into flames, members of the undead going up in flames. The few that try to go around it fall off the bridge and into the water. Someone shouts and a couple of grenades fly overhead, the ground shaking below his feet. Techno pants once he catches up with the rest of the group, watching the bridge burn and everything on it going down, down, down. 

A blur of pink falls into the open sea.


End file.
